Provenance_ How a Con Man and a Forger Rewrote the History of Modern Art - Laney Salisbury [50]
“An American industrialist, a prominent man of great integrity, has an affidavit and documents contending that a painting now in the vaults of a gallery, and known indubitably to be by Alberto Giacometti, was stated to be a fraud” by the association.
“I am rather anxious that, unless I am careful, an elegant and delightful painting might be destroyed needlessly. . . . Please accept my assurances that I do not believe that you could be personally responsible for such a decision: in a busy office mistakes occur easily, and art, particularly, depends so much on intuition and subjective responses, rather than formal scientific measurements.”
After studying the enclosed photographs of the two works, Palmer and Annette had decided not to respond to Drewe’s request. They agreed that the paintings looked fake and that the florid letter was the work of a loose cannon. They were confident that without the certificates he would never be able to sell the fakes.
Three weeks after getting Drewe’s letter, however, they received a note from Phillips auction house in London asking for information on a piece that was about to go on the block. Attached was a copy of a letter from a Richard Cockcroft and a photograph showing one of the very works Drewe had tried to have authenticated. Titled Deux Figures, it was purportedly owned not by Drewe but by Cockcroft, who said he had bought it from E. C. Gregory. Cockcroft had helpfully provided the auction house with a purported letter from Giacometti’s biographer, James Lord, stating that the work was genuine.
Palmer was livid. Cockcroft or Drewe or both were trying to go around the association, and she knew that it in the end it would just cause her more work. Eventually, all of Giacometti’s works end up on her desk.
She wrote back to Phillips, told them the work was wrong, and asked them to send it to the association. Phillips replied that they no longer had it because it had been reclaimed.
Palmer remembered another work titled Deux Figures from the catalogue raisonné. She consulted her records and found a picture of the original, which had been bought from the artist by E. C. Gregory, who had bequeathed it to the Tate Gallery in 1959. As far as she knew, Gregory had owned only one Deux Figures in his life.
Clearly, this “Richard Cockcroft” was not only copying the work but also forging part of its provenance, cleverly embroidering fact with fiction.
Three months after the arrival of Cockcroft’s letter, Palmer received a bizarre phone call. In a measured tone, a Londoner identifying himself as Viscount Chelmwood said he had been referred to her by a mutual acquaintance at the renowned Wildenstein Gallery.
Chelmwood launched into a complicated story, claiming he owned a portrait that had once belonged to E. C. Gregory and was now mired in legal wrangling over its ownership. Chelmwood needed her help.
She listened quietly. The mention of E. C. Gregory made her leery, and there was something odd about the viscount’s manner. He was asking too many questions about Giacometti and his acquaintances, she thought, as if he were trolling for inside information. Like any other researcher working on a catalogue raisonné, Palmer was wary of sharing information with possible competitors or dealers who might be wondering whether their paintings were going to make it into the catalogue. Depending on what ends up in a catalogue raisonné, fortunes can be lost or gained, and researchers have occasionally been threatened or offered bribes.
Finally, the viscount told her that he owned several Giacometti sketches and documents and wondered whether she would be interested in including them in her catalogue raisonné.
Palmer thanked him, said she would be in touch, and hung up. She opened her logbook and made a note next to Chelmwood’s name:
“Weird.”
Next she rang up their mutual acquaintance at the Wildenstein, David Ellis-Jones, to ask if he had ever heard of Chelmwood.